Bookshelf Battle

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 15

Defacto Mayor Hauser

VGRF and I sat in Doug’s office, located in the back of a locker room. “Coach Hauser” was stenciled on the door.

Blandie was busy bumming make up products off other survivors, arguing “just because it’s the zombie apocalypse doesn’t mean I can’t look good.”

Bernie was working on the lyrics to another wholesome rap song, as usual.

Alien Jones, having worked harder than anyone else in the group so far, was taking a well deserved siesta.

“A few days ago, one of my squads was on a mission to look for survivors on Becker Street when three Apache helicopters flew overhead. The pilots hovered in for a closer look at my men and then dispersed,” Hauser said. “It made no sense to me until I read the part in your survivor’s journal about Morganstern blowing up the mall just to get to you.”

“The army’s gunning for me,” I said. “Obviously, when they figured out none of your men were me, they moved on.”

“We should leave, BQB,” VGRF said. “Morganstern’s liable to blow up everyone here just to get to you.”

Hauser poured himself a scotch. He offered us some, but my girl and I are teetotaling nerds.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Hauser said. “Between the basketball court and the other camps in the park, I’ve got close to a thousand people here. Hauser may be ruthless, but I don’t know how anyone could sweep that many bodies under the rug.”

Hauser sipped his drink.

“No my friends, I think you need to stay here. Safety in numbers. BQB, once you step outside the building, that bastard will get you I guarantee it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help the camp?” I said. “I want to earn my keep.”

“Of course,” Hauser said. “I assign jobs to everyone. Video Game Rack Fighter, how would you like to run our day car center?”

VGRF scoffed.

“Oh what, because I’m a woman?”

“Because we’ve got a fifty inch plasma and all the video games you could possibly want,” Doug replied. “I figure you could keep the kids entertained with that. The whole place is run by a back up generator so you can play forever.”

“Sold,” VGRF said.

Doug looked at me.

“And you. I’ll expect big things out of you…Deputy Mayor.”

“What?” I asked.

BREAKING NEWS: BQB NAMED DEPUTY MAYOR OF EAST RANDOMTOWN!

“BQB, this settlement is all that’s left of East Randomtown,” Doug said. “Our humble little burg’s two greatest citizens, the man who was beaten senseless for thirty seconds on a 1980’s TV show and the man who set up a web site so exhilarating that it drew in 3.5 readers. Past and present working together for a brighter tomorrow. What do you say?”

I echoed VGRF’s sentiment with a “sold” of my own.

“Excellent,” Doug said as he stood up. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to round up a party to go raid the pharmacy.”

The three of us walked out onto the basketball court floor.

Hauser whistled loudly. He spoke with a big, booming voice.

“Attention, everyone! Attention!”

He slapped me hard on the back. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.

“I’ve just appointed Bookshelf Q. Battler as deputy mayor. He’s well qualified, having started up a WordPress blog with 3.5 readers. He’s the boss while I’m gone so what he says, goes!”

The survivors carried on with their business.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“Just like that,” Doug said.

The Mayor walked away. I put my arm around VGRF.

“Did you ever think we’d ever get to make such a difference in the world?” I asked.

“Says you,” VGRF said. “You’re the second-in-command. I have to babysit a bunch of rugrats all day and I’m now realizing I won’t be able to play Car Thief Mayhem around them. I’ll be staring at that stupid Buildcraft bullshit until the end of time! That game is completely pointless!”

“There are worse fates,” I said.

“You’re not even here a day and he gives you a position of authority?” VGRF asked. “I’m calling shenanigans.”

“I know it’s hard babe,” I said. “But you need to learn how to trust people.”

“I trust no one in a zombie apocalypse.”

We found Alien Jones sawing logs under a blanket on the bleachers. A trio of pre-teens were poking him with a stick.

“What is this thing?” one of the kids asked.

“Guys, can you not disturb my deformed kid?” I asked.

“Why don’t you show me where the day care center is?” VGRF asked the urchins. “I’m supposed to play video games with you guys.”

“Sweet!” one of the kids yelled. “I call first dibs on Buildcraft!”

As she walked away, I heard VGRF mumble, “Son of a…”

I reached into Alien Jones’ pocket and retrieved the space phone.

I knew just the right zombie author to call.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, flash fiction, funny, humor, stories, zombie apocalypse, zombie fiction, zombie stories, zombies

#31ZombieAuthors

PREVIOUSLY ON #31ZombieAuthors

Hello 3.5 readers.

Day 15! We’ve reached the half-way mark for #31ZombieAuthors

For those of you just tuning in…

East Randomtown, the burg I call home, has been ravaged by a zombie apocalypse, masterminded by the dreaded Dr. Hugo Von Science.

I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, and my group of survivors including my girlfriend, Video Game Rack Fighter, alien/intergalactic correspondent Alien Jones, friend/former Funky Hunks rap duo partner Bernie “MC Plotz” Plotznick, and ex-girlfriend Blandie, who is totally the worst, have formed a survivor’s group.

You can read daily posts of our adventure’s in BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal.

Naturally, I can’t do this alone, so for the past fifteen days I’ve been reaching out to noted authors of zombie books to seek their undead expertise. Check back here every day for a new zombie author interview.

Even if you’re one of those nerds who aren’t into zombies, these writers are still sharing their secrets to success, so if you’re an aspiring scribe, you’ll want to tune in and learn from the masters anyway.

For most of this month, my gang and I have been trapped in the East Randomtown Mall. However, a complex plot, perhaps too complex for a blog with only 3.5 readers has emerged.

General Morganstern, a corrupt general who answers to a shadowy, yet to be named figure, is attempting to use the zombie apocalypse as a cover to blow me the hell up.

He’s gone on Network News One to assure the public that everyone in East Randomtown is either dead or a zombie, and that his planned air strikes won’t harm anyone.

Luckily, fans of the Funky Hunks, the wholesome, non-threatening rap duo Bernie and I were in during the late 1990s/early 2000’s, have been descending on the Army’s base of operations in West Randomtown to protest the strikes and inform the people that Bernie and I are very much alive.

They know this because they’ve been reading my posts on the Bookshelf Battle Blog. Oddly, despite all this attention, I never seem to average more than 3.5 readers anyway.

After leaving the mall, the gang and I searched for my beloved Aunt Gertie, to no avail. Is she lost? Dead? Zombified? Will I ever find out? Oh Gertie, where are you?

Currently, the gang and I are holed up in “Hauser Town” or as it used to be know, the East Randomtown Park/Rec Center. East Randomtownians are in a dispute over who is the town’s most famous citizen. Some say it’s Doug because he appeared as an extra in a 1980’s cop drama for thirty entire seconds, during which his character had the snot beaten out of them. Others say it’s me because I built a WordPress blog that brings in 3.5 readers. I don’t care about the title. Doug claims not to. Thus far, we’ve been able to set the rivalry aside for the town’s greater good.

So that’s all you need to know, 3.5. At some point, I’ll have to archive all of this in one easy to read format but until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy as the second half of #31ZombieAuthors begins!

Tagged 31zombieauthors, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, writers, writing, zombies

7 Comments

Sanctuary in a Zombie Apocalypse – Stay or Run?

It’s one of the oldest zombie apocalypse tropes going.

A plucky band of survivors happen across a makeshift utopia, a community safe from zombie attacks.

They’re invited in, made to feel welcome, given a purpose, a chance at a new life…and then…BAM!!!

The old double-cross. They’re betrayed, killed, chopped up into a stew, you name it.

BQB thinks Fort Hauser is a pretty sweet deal and wants to stay.

VGRF thinks its all just a little too perfect and wants to head for the hills.

Who’s right? Who’s wrong.

3.5 readers, BQB is counting on you. Advise him in the comments as to whether Fort Hauser is haven or a hoax.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, humor, talking dead, the walking dead, walking dead, walkingdead, writers, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 – (Part 3)

Doug gave us the dime store tour of the camp he’d set up in the rec center gym.

Over a hundred makeshift beds were scattered across the wooden floor. Some people slept on cots, others in sleeping bags, or on sheets and blankets. Some folks who weren’t able to sleep milled about in different groups.

Near the bleachers, there was a buffet set up. The welcome smell of hot soup filled my nostrils.

“This was all just a matter of being in the right place at the right time,” Doug said. “I’ve been a volunteer coach here since I retired…”

Hauser parlayed his fifteen seconds of fame into a car dealership, Hauser Hyundai. People from all over stopped by to buy

Doug Hauser – One of East Randomtown’s best and brightest, though that’s not saying much.

South Korean cars at a reasonable price and watch Doug recreate his infamous fight scene. Usually, he’d just whip a long haired wig onto one of his salesmen and ask him to pretend to be Don Johnson.

I witnessed this spectacle myself once when I was twelve and Aunt Gertie bought herself a used Hyundai.

“I was watching my boys score another win when the zombie apocalypse broke out,” Doug explained. “The fence around the park has kept the monsters at bay and a few brave souls and I have been making daily scrounge missions into town, picking up all the supplies and survivors we can find and bringing them back here.”

“That’s impressive Doug,” I said. “East Randomtown is in your debt.”

“Oh it’s nothing, BQB. I’m just doing what any good citizen in my shoes would do.”

“What’s this I hear you’re the Mayor now?” I asked.

“Oh that,” Doug said as he rolled his eyes. “People just started calling me that. I never asked for the title but you know how people are. They need some authority figure to glom onto. I was sad to hear about Mayor Bramble. I’m going to call for a fair election as soon as possible.”

“Doug,” I said. “About that statue. You know, I never had anything to do with…”

Doug belted out a big “SHHH!”

“Please BQB. Of course I know you never asked Bramble to tear my likeness down and replace it with yours. Do you really think I give a rat’s ass about that thing anyway?”

“You don’t?” I asked.

“Hell no,” Doug said. “Thirty years ago I was a dumb kid who tried to become an actor. Other than getting the shit beaten out of me on one cop drama, it didn’t pan out. That’s just life. You try one thing. It doesn’t work. You try something else. Bramble was the one who made a big deal about it. He was always obsessed with drawing attention to a town no one’s ever heard of, same thing he did with you and your website.”

“You’re a good sport, Doug,” I said.

“I always lecture my team about good sportsmanship. I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t follow my own rules,” Doug said.

Janet Melman was two years behind me at East Randomtown High. She went on to become a nurse.

“Hey BQB,” she said as she walked over in a pair of scrubs.

She turned to Doug.

“We need to talk, Mayor. I’ve got a list of medications my patients need. Some of them aren’t going to last long without them.”

“Excuse me, BQB,” Doug said. “Please, you and your friends get something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Doug and Janet walked off.

“And you thought coming here was a bad idea,” I said.

“I’m still not convinced it wasn’t,” VGRF said. “This is all just a little bit too perfect.”

“Think whatever you want,” I said. “I’ma get me some hot soup and call another zombie author.”

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, writers, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 2)

WELCOME TO HAUSER TOWN

ONLY THE WORTHY ARE WELCOME

To protect the indigenous wildlife, a tall fence ran the whole perimeter of East Randomtown Park.

VGRF pulled our ride to the front gate.

It was manned by a pack of gun toting local yokels.

There was George the Barber, who’d made his living providing men’s regular cuts for forty years. He was packing a pretty

The DiStefano Brothers – a pair of gun toting hoodlums even when East Randomtown wasn’t zombified

fierce looking shotgun.

The DiStefano Brothers, Carl and Billy, each carried a machete in one hand and a handgun in the other.

“Halt,” George said, shining a light into our car. “Who dares enter Fort Hauser?”

“It’s me George,” I said. “BQB. You’ve been my damn barber since I was a kid.”

“That gets you no special treatment here, nerd!” George replied. “State your business!”

“State my business?” I asked. “My friends and I want to come in and not get eaten by zombies!”

“Hold please,” George said.

The barber pulled out a walkie talkie and mumbled into it. A few seconds later, the voice on the other end clearly stated, “Send them in.”

Carl rolled the gate open.

“Proceed directly to the Rec Center,” George said. “Don’t dilly dally. Mayor Hauser is expecting you.”

“MAYOR Hauser?” I asked.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, poindexter,” George said.

We did as we were told. When we reached the rec center, we hopped out of the truck and found ourselves face to face with the infamous statue in question.

It was actually two statues set on one base. Both cast in bronze, the one on the left was of a young, chubby cheeked Doug Hauser doubled over, a pained expression on his face as the statue on the right, that of a young Don Johnson, delivered a punch to Hauser’s stomach.

On the base, a plaque read:

In Honor of Douglas Adams Houser

Thirty seconds getting the snot beaten out of you on the greatest crime drama of the 1980’s brought an infinite amount of glory to East Randomtown.

Duct taped to the side of Doug’s head was a red piece of paper that read:

OFFICIAL DECREE

This monument is to be destroyed immediately and replaced with a sculpture of Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Plaque to read, “In honor of Bookshelf Q. Battler, the East Randomtown resident whose ingenuity brought the eyes of 3.5 readers to his hallowed website.”

Signed,

Mayor Philbert T. Bramble

“We need to leave,” VGRF said. “This guy is going to shoot you in the head as soon as he sees you.”

“VGRF,” I said. “I’ve met him before. He came to my elementary school once and told us all about how Don Johnson left him pissing blood for a month. Sure, that probably wasn’t the best story for a bunch of little kids to hear, but still. Doug Hauser is East Randomtown’s favorite son. I don’t care what Bramble’s stupid decree says.”

I knocked on the glass door.

Doug’s voice came over the intercom.

“One moment. I’m coming.”

A minute later, the door opened and Doug walked out to greet us. He wore a dirty white undershirt, a pair of jeans and had a gun secured in a holster on his hip. He was in his early sixties, but despite a few wrinkles, a few extra pounds, and a receding hair line, he looked just like his statue.

He took one look at me, grinned, and gave me a big hug.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler. Thank God you found us.”

“Good to see you, Doug,” I said. “This is…”

“I know,” Doug said. “We’ve got a generator going and one of my guys rigged up a Wi-Fi hotspot. I’ve been monitoring your survivor’s journal. A pleasure to meet you, Video Game Rack Fighter. Bernie. Blandie. And this must be…”

Doug squatted down and gave Alien Jones the old once over. AJ was still in his incognito hipster disguise.

“Are you for real?” Doug asked.

“Are you?” Alien Jones replied.

“If it’s all the same,” I said. “We try to keep him on the down low. Sure, I talk about him on the blog but no one ever believes any of my posts are for real. If we could just tell everyone he’s my deformed kid with ADD, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Doug said. “Please, entre vous. Mi casa es su casa.”

At this point, Attorney Donnelly, Official Legal Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, advises me to state that at no time did Mr. Don Johnson, one of the greatest thespians in the history of the stage and/or screen, ever make Doug Hauser piss blood, nor did he beat him up or injure him in anyway. Any reference to Mr. Johnson and/or Miami Vice are purely for fictional and parody purposes only.

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 14 (Part 1)

October 14, 2015 – 12:00 A.M.

Night fell and we were back in the Compensator, heading west through the Great Random Forest, a tract of undeveloped land where the trees grew tall and other than the squirrels, there wasn’t much of anyone to keep a guy company.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a plywood sign.

Scrawled on it with black spray paint were the words:

Sanctuary for the Worthy

Head Ye Who Would Dare to Fort Hauser

(Formerly Known as the East Randomtown Park and Rec Center)

“Fort Hauser?” VGRF asked.

“Hauser,” I said. “Doug Hauser!”

Doug Hauser – BQB’s rival for the title of East Randomtown’s Most Famous Citizen

“The guy who was an extra for thirty seconds in one episode of Miami Vice in 1985?” VGRF asked. “The guy you beat for the title of most famous East Randomtown resident when you obtained 3.5 readers for the Bookshelf Battle Blog?”

“The same,” I replied. “He must have started a survivor colony.”

East Randomtown Park was a family favorite. Picnics, concerts, sports, you name it. It had a walking trail, a beautiful pond, tennis courts, I could go on and on. It was one of the few locations the town had going for it. At the Westernmost point of the tract of land was a rec center with a basketball court and a gym, not to mention an indoor track and swimming pool.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” VGRF said.

“I’m sorry,” Bernie said. “That was me, yo.”

Blandie gagged. “Oh my God! I need air!”

“That’s not a good idea,” VGRF said.

“It’s not a good idea to die of asphyxiation either,” Blandie said as she rolled down her window.

Alien Jones, who was sitting between my ex and my friend, chimed in.

“I must concur with the blonde human. The stench is quite potent. Fairly close in molecular composition to the gas banned for warfare purposes by Intergalactic Space Law.”

“I wasn’t talking about that anyway,” VGRF said. “This guy just puts out signs inviting people to seek his help because…why? The kindness of his heart? I’m sorry but throwing in with him would be a terrible idea.”

“A zombie apocalypse can bring out the worst in people,” I said. “Or the best. Maybe this is Hauser at his best?”

“Your mate is astute, BQB,” Alien Jones said. “I sense this is the worst.”

“That’s just an old zombie apocalypse trope,” I said. “The old ‘invite people to a camp under the guise of charity then rob and/or murder and/or eat them’ routine. This isn’t a book or a TV show. This is real life. We should check it out.”

“Aren’t you’re the last person Hauser wants to see?” VGRF asked. “Seeing as how Mayor Bramble was planning to have Hauser’s statue torn down and replaced with a sculpture of you?”

“I never wanted that,” I said. “I’m sure Hauser knows that. Head to the park, babe. There’s safety in numbers. Morganstern can’t kill everyone.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Alien Jones said.

Tagged amwriting, books, Comedy, funny, Halloween, horror, humor, stories, zombie apocalypse, zombies

Oct 13 2015

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 13

At exactly six am, we all woke up to what sounded and felt like an earthquake.

I bet Jerry Bruckheimer doesn’t have shit like this on his blog.

VGRF and I looked out the window just in time to see a squad of F-15 fighter jets flying over head. In their wake, a sonic boom followed.

Blandie popped out of the bedroom.

“What was that?!”

Bernie jumped up.

“I didn’t touch anything! I swear!”

“Relax, humans,” Alien Jones said. “The East Randomtown Mall is no more.”

The space phone rang. I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Battler, you son of a bitch. You’re still alive.”

I recognized the voice from yesterday’s broadcast.

General Morganstern? What a Douchenstern.

“General Morganstern.”

“I was hoping you’d still be in the mall. I do hate to waste good missiles. Pity.”

I put the space phone on speaker.

“Wait. So you’re TRYING to kill me?”

“Of course.”

I could feel a sense of panic spread over the group.

“Why?”

“Two words, dipshit. Operation Fuhrerpunschen.”

I tried to bluff.

“I don’t…I don’t know anything about…come again?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, nerd!” Morganstern shouted. “You’ve got that 1950’s style private detective spilling his guts about how he took out Hitler all over your pathetic excuse for a blog!”

“So?” I asked. “I only have 3.5 readers!”

“That’s 3.5 too many!” Morganstern replied. “National security is at stake, son. You and your friend out in California have no idea what forces you’re messing with. We’ve got plans for Jake and as for you? We’ll find you. We’ll blow your ass up and the public will never know that you were anything more than a zombie apocalypse casualty.”

I sat down on the couch.

“Is there anything I can do to talk you out of this?”

“Maybe,” Morganstern said. “Turn over the alien so we can slice him up. Do that and shut down the Bookshelf Battle Blog down for good and never utter the words, “Operation Fuhrerpunschen” to anyone ever again, and I’ll let you live.”

Alien Jones and I had become looked up at me and was about to speak when I cut him off.

“No, Alien Jones,” I said. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll never give you up to save myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Alien Jones said. “I was just going to ask if you think your Aunt has any booze up in this shack.”

“You’ll get my alien over my dead body,” I said into the space phone. “Listen, my 3.5 readers just assume everything on my blog is fiction. I’m not worth your time.”

“The very powerful man I answer to would disagree.”

“The President?” I asked. “I doubt he’d condone what you’re doing.”

“The man I’m working for makes the President look as powerful as an old washer woman. That’s all I’ll say about that.”

“General,” I said. “Fine. Kill me if you have to, but please, let my friends go.”

“Do they know about Operation Fuhrerpunschen?” Morganstern asked.

Bernie and Blandie were clueless. Alien Jones and VGRF were both Bookshelf Battle Blog contributors so of course they knew.

“No not at all,” I lied.

“Sir?” Blandie interrupted.

I directed my gaze toward Blandie and mouthed the words, “SHUT UP!”

“Sir,” Blandie repeated. “My name is Blandie Settler. I’m a proud American in good standing and I just want to assure you Iknow NOTHING about Operation Furry-whatever, so there’s no reason to…”

Boo! Blandie is the worst!

“Jesus Christ, Battler!” Morganstern barked. “Have you had me on speaker the entire time? Now I really DO have to kill every last asshole you’ve got in that room with you!”

“Thanks Blandie,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

“You’re just lucky your phone can’t be tracked,” Morganstern said. “I’d of wiped you off the map by now.”

“How did you get this number anyway?” I asked.

“We’ve been tracking your porn viewing for quite sometime, Battler. Every time you hit on one of the sites we’re monitoring, it gives us all your info.”

VGRF wacked me.

“What?”

“Even now?” she whispered. “You’re looking at porn during the zombie apocalypse? Have you no shame?”

“I’ve got to say our tech guy had to work around the clock to figure out how to dial a number that included four pictures of a frog licking a cupcake.”

Alien Jones shrugged his shoulders.

“There are parts of the universe where a frog licking a cupcake is considered good luck,” Alien Jones explained.

“You know what the sad part is General?”

“What’s that?”

BQB and Jake working on an Operation Fuhrerpunschen novel together?!

“Had you just come to me and asked me to keep Operation Fuhrerpunschen off of my blog, I’d of done it. But now that you’re trying to kill my friends and I, I can guarantee you that not only will I find a way to escape, but I’ll contract with Jake to put a full length novel about said operation on Amazon as soon I get home!”

The General went silent for a bit, then uttered, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, bitch.”

“You’ll never get out of this alive, Battler,” Morganstern said. “I’ve got surveillance drones combing East Randomtown as we speak. As soon as you pop your ass out into the light of day, I’ll shove a missile up it.”

I hanged up the phone.

“Listen everyone,” I said. “I’m the one who allowed Jake to talk about a top secret mission on my blog. I’m the one who brought the heat down. Morganstern wants me. He’s just threatening the rest of you to get at me. Let’s split up. You all get to safety. I’ll turn myself in. Once I’m dead, he won’t care about you.”

“Untrue,” Alien Jones said. “I read Morganstern’s mind. He truly intends to hunt down you and anyone who has ever heard the words, ‘Operation Fuhrerpunschen.’”

“Shit!” Bernie said as he stuck his fingers in his ears. “Stop saying it then!”

“Our only hope of survival is to stick together. It will be risky, but we’ll only move under the cover of darkness so as to avoid the military’s surveillance. If we are detected, we run the risk of becoming the victims of another air strike.”

“Then it’s settled,” VGRF said. “Let’s all get some rest and we’ll move out at dusk.”

“I’m sorry I got you all into this mess,” I said. “I promise to you get you out of it.”

“Don’t make promises yo’ ass can’t keep, sucka,’” Bernie said.

“Which reminds me,” I said as I dialed a number into the space phone, “I promised to interview another zombie author today.”

Tagged amwriting, Comedy, funny, humor, mysteries, Pop Culture Mysteries, stories, zombies

Oct 12 2015